Snapshots
by sinking815
Summary: Moments defining Gale and Katniss' relationship through the eyes of numerous District 12 citizens.  Canon Pre THG - THG, possibly CF.
1. Peeta

_February 5th, 2012_

_A/N: I was inspired to write one of those vignette-type stories where key moments are highlighted that have a common theme, but the idea I came up with modified with some poetic license. I wanted to write specific moments from different District 12 citizens' POVs on Katniss and Gale's relationship. Most of this takes place pre-Hunger Games through the Hunger Games. It should stick pretty close to canon. Let me know what you think! Reviews are always appreciated._

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><p>It's way too early to unlock the bakery doors, but Father dutifully walks around the counter when the insistent pounding on the front door doesn't go away. I glance up from my frosting work to see <em>him<em> walk into our shop.

Gale Hawthorne.

My heart leaps with the hope that she might be with him. It also falls simultaneously because she's always with him.

Today, she's not.

Two squirrels dangle from his belt and he's already working Father for some kind of trade. He sounds desperate, and I think he must be, if he's already been hunting and storming through our front doors this early on a weekday morning. It's not even six!

Of course, I know that he knows this is not just any day. Today is Katniss' birthday.

"I caught two this morning," Gale says, unclipping his game and holding them out to Father for inspection. "I promise I can bring back more."

Father studiously rotates the two animals by their tails, gauging their weight with an outstretched arm. I've stopped frosting and am blatantly watching the exchange, not even caring to hide my interest.

"You hit their sides," Father says. He's not angry, just making a comment.

"I know, sir," Gale says, apologetically. "I'm no where near as good a shot as she is."

I bristle at the admiration – and adoration? – in his voice. Unduly placed, I realize, but I still burn in my annoyance and jealousy nonetheless. It's one thing to have to see them together constantly. It's quite another to hear the proof of their intimacy in his voice.

Father says nothing, and Gale mistakenly reads this as uncertainty. I can already see Father's given in to his request; he's just sorting out how to hide a missing loaf from Mother.

"I promise, whatever you want. Here…" Gale scrounges in his pocket and holds out a few coins. "Take these too."

My eyes widen in shock. It's not a fortune in Gale's hand, not even close. But the fact that he's holding out money at all is almost too much for me to bear. I feel guilt twist my insides uncomfortably at the reminder of their – _of her_ – day to day existence.

"No, no, no," Father says, shaking his head at Gale's outstretched hand. "The two squirrels will be plenty."

Gale's eyes narrow slightly, detecting a trap, but he recovers quickly.

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Yes, of course."

Father walks behind the counter, looking up at me for the first time since the whole exchange started. The sympathy in his eyes only infuriates me more and I turn back to the cake before me. The flower petal I am working on gushes from the tube, dripping over the edge of the cake. Frustration makes me swipe harshly at the mistake, leaving a pink smear against the white backdrop. Father won't yell at me for ruining a cake, but I still feel remorse for losing my temper. We may be better off than most people in District 12, but sugar and flour are still not cheap.

"What did you say you wanted?"

"Whatever you can part with," Gale says, though I see him eyeing the cake with a reluctant hope. Our eyes meet uncomfortably. At least uncomfortably on my end. All I can hear when I look at Gale Hawthorne are the echoes of the silly gushings of girls at school whenever he walks by. How handsome he is. How strong he is. How perfect he is. It only makes me sick because I wonder if thoughts like that cross her mind. Because I can practically read Gale's thoughts about her. She doesn't seem to notice, at least in front of other people. Then again, she's alone with him a lot...

My mind willingly fills in the unspoken details. I try not to glower at Gale.

Father sees his hopeful gaze too.

"Peeta," he says.

I snap my attention away from Gale and turn towards him.

"Finish that frosting and package it for Mr. Hawthorne."

He looks back to Gale.

"Do you want it personalized?"

"Could you write happy birthday on it?" The excitement in Gale's voice is revolting.

"He sure can," Father replies.

I know I don't have a choice now that Father's agreed to it. But it's not like I really ever had a choice to begin with. I'd have done it anyhow. For her.

"Any color preference?" Father asks.

"Green," Gale says.

I switch my icing bag and begin piping the words across the cake top in a light spring green. Slowly, the cursive takes shape and I finish the last y with an extra flourish. Maybe she'll know it was me...

When I finish, I carefully box it and hand it over the counter to Gale. He looks through the clear box top and his face lights up, jubilant.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"You are most welcome," Father says. He looks to me for the briefest of moments, and adds, "I know how special that girl is."

Though I suspect his words were meant for my benefit, Gale Hawthorne actually flushes a deep crimson before he mutters a few more thank yous and practically bolts from the bakery. I am fuming and green icing has spurted all over the countertop from my clenched fists. Father puts his hand on my shoulder, gives me a sympathetic look, and then heads for the back of the shop to skin his squirrels.

I am left alone, green staining my hands and apron.

_~Fin_


	2. Hazelle

_February 5th, 2012_

_A/N: Okay so this one is short but I had to write it before I went to bed. It's been floating around in my head for some time. :)_

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><p>It isn't hard for me to spy on my son and his friend as I work in the kitchen. They sit at the kitchen table, their heads bent together studying a book she brought to show him. She points out details on the drawings and tells him the benefits of this plant or the edibleness of that one. It also isn't hard for me to see his enthrallment with this girl.<p>

Katniss Everdeen.

I'm familiar with her family, but just barely. Her father was killed in the same mining accident as my husband. Her mother is a wonderful caring women who works magic with herbs and plants, healing folks in the Seam who cannot afford the more expensive apothecaries in town. Now I see where she gets her stock of plants.

I watch her daughter and my son as I slice wild onions for my stew. Gale is not so much as looking at the pages as he is staring at her. If Katniss notices, she is gracious enough to let his open adoration continue as if unnoticed. I frown, considering the word. Adoration might be a little strong. He's only fifteen, she just turned thirteen.

"This is the plant I was named for," she says, flipping the page.

"I thought your name was Catnip?" Gale quips.

I do not understand the story behind her nickname, but I catch her petulant stare, which my son returns with a goofy grin. She can't hold her frown for long. The corners of her mouth twitch slightly and she ducks her head to hide the smile that blossoms across her face. I can appreciate my son's fascination for this intelligent beautiful strong girl. Her sister is openly acknowledged as one of the sweetest girls in the Seam, but I see the draw in her older sister as well.

Gale's face breaks out into an exuberant smile when she fixes her gaze on him. My own grin grows knowingly. I recognize that excitement on his face, the glow in his eyes.

"That's gonna be permanent, isn't it?" she asks.

"If you want it to be," Gale replies.

Katniss presses her lips together, thinking. Her head nods slightly, either accepting this revelation or approving it, and turns back to the book. Gale keeps his attention on her.

I spy for a few minutes longer, trying to keep the smile off of my face in case one of them should notice. I needn't worry. It's as if I don't exist to them.

_~Fin_


	3. Darius

_February 5th, 2012_

_A/N: Wow, so I'm on a roll today... You guys are getting spoiled silly. This is the last surprise update though... I really have to study for my exam tomorrow. Boo. Thanks for all the reviews! They inspired me to to keep going. I did left some dialogue from Mockingjay for this scene. I do not take credit for that piece of the conversation or any of the characters, situations, etc etc... :)_

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><p>The winter is absolutely malicious today. Even the inside of the Hob is painfully frigid, despite the shelter from the whipping wind. The walls creak around me as I make my way to Sae's soup stall, in search of some heat. Anything to put some warmth back into my frozen body. Peacekeeper uniforms may be Capitol-made but they definitely do not overspend to ensure our personal comfort.<p>

Gotta save that money for their fancy surgeries and what not, I think.

Greasy Sae's stall is surrounded by people. A gray wool cap sticks out above the crowd. They part to let me through instantly, another perk of Peacekeeper status –I'm not delusional enough to believe it's out of genuine politeness – and I see her sitting cross-legged on the counter. She clutches a bowl of soup in her gloved hands, wincing as she slurps the steaming broth too quickly.

"Better slow down, Miss Everdeen," I say, leaning against the post of the stall. "Don't wanna burn that pretty little mouth of yours."

Though her mouth offers an amused smirk, her eyes narrow at me, shooting gray flames my direction. Katniss takes my teasing because she's smart enough to know she has to. Her open disgust only drives me forward. She leans back, guarding her soup protectively, when I encroach over her shoulder.

"Just wanted to see what soup was on today…" I step back, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Wild dog," Katniss says. Her smile is cheeky. "Probably a little below your standards, Darius."

She and Sae exchange a conspiratorial grin. The game is on.

"What would you know of my standards, Katniss?" I ask, cocking my head at her just in case she misses the double meaning in my words.

Another brief fury of fire tells me she doesn't.

"I can imagine," she says. "I couldn't possibly make a trade worth your while."

The implications of her comment should make me angry. I realize that most of my after-duty activities are abhorred by many people in this godforsaken district. I also realize that many of the people who detest them also come knocking on my door every so often.

Except Katniss Everdeen.

Nope, not once has she caved to trade me favors for a coin or two. She stays far away from my door in the evening. Good old Hawthorne has seen to that.

"Oh I don't know about that," I tease, fueled by the thought of her best friend. Really, truly, it's probably too bland of a term for them. _Friends._ I've seen the way they look at each other. It's rare for me to have caught them apart, as I seem to have done today.

"I think a rabbit or two might do it," I say.

Katniss frowns, chewing and considering her next move carefully.

"A rabbit for what?" She stares at me suspiciously, her eyes drifting momentarily for her game bag and I see that the thought of an honest trade actually intrigues her. Too bad I'm not considering an honest exchange.

"A kiss." I reach out to twist her braid between my fingers, tickling her cheek with its end. She smacks my hand away impatiently.

"That's not a fair trade," she says.

"Agreed," Sae says, taking Katniss' finished bowl. "Her rabbits are quality. Never destroys the pelt, this one."

"So are my kisses," I counter.

Katniss crosses her arms, unimpressed and unconvinced.

"Come on, Katniss," I say. She ducks her shoulder when I reach out for her braid again. "Consider the source…"

She raises her eyebrows pointedly. Her look is incredulous, mocking. Daring me to prove her wrong.

"You know what they say about red-heads…"

She snorts.

"Actually I don't."

Probably true, I think, slightly irritated at her nonchalance. Not when she has Mr. Handsome-Mysterious-Prince-Charming at her beck and call.

"We're the most virile of them all," I say.

There's a moment of silence and I'm considering that she doesn't know the meaning of that word when her face cracks into a wide grin and she doubles over laughing. Sae's cackle joins in with Katniss' melodic laughter and suddenly I'm scrambling to recover some semblance of pride. A sixteen-year-old is taking me for a fool.

"Who is the most virile of them all?"

I turn to see Hawthorne striding forward, his game bag haphazardly tossed over his shoulder. I wonder if he sees the pink in Katniss' cheeks darken ever so slightly, the spark light up in her eyes when she looks at him.

"Darius was trying to prove that one of my rabbits, possibly two," Katniss explains, her gloved fingers emphasizing our talking price, " was worth one of his kisses…"

Before she's finished, the devastating full force of Gale's glare is upon me. He keeps his expression light, interested, but the threat in his eyes is less warning and more promise. I am forced to look away.

"… trying being the key word there."

"All right, I'll prove it," I say. I spin to survey the crowd of people, dispersed randomly at the different stalls of the black market, searching for a familiar face. It doesn't take me long to find one.

"The women with the blue jacket, fabrics stall?" I ask.

Katniss and Sae nod, still giggling at my nonsense. Gale glowers.

"If I recall, I think our final price was a blueberry pie…"

This sends Katniss and Sae into another round of hysteria, so much so that Katniss blots her eyes with the back of her hands. Tears fall freely in the wrinkles of Sae's old face. I spot another girl, standing ten feet away measuring out salt, her neck swathed in a green muffler. I nod in her direction.

"See? The one in the green muffler? Go ahead and ask her," I say, casually leaning back against the stall post. "_If_ you need a reference."

Katniss shakes her head and hops down from the counter.

"Trust me, I don't."

She moves towards Hawthorne, who shifts imperceptibly to accommodate her closeness. I do not miss the protective hand he places on the small of her back. Our eyes meet and I entertain the challenge in his stare with one of my own.

"Come on Gale, I'm freezing," she says. He loses the duel, dropping our locked eyes for her. The hardness melts from his face instantaneously.

"I'll catch up," he says. "Let me settle with Greasy Sae."

Katniss gives him a quizzical look, but nods and shoulders her game bag, weaving through the crowd to the Hob entrance. Hawthorne waits until she's disappeared from view before rounding on me, his hand catching my arm in an impossibly tight grip.

"Don't."

The consequence of one word is evident in the stress of his voice. The tone is low and dangerous. If Hawthorne was a dog, I can practically hear the menacing growl that would come ripping through his chest. I glance warily from his face to his hand and back. The circulation to my lower arm is fading.

"Don't what?" I feign innocence.

The grip on my arm tightens and Hawthorne steps closer, rising to his full imposing height.

"Gentlemen, not at my stall," Sae warns. We ignore her.

"You know what," he says. His words are slow, pointed. "She's. Off. Limits."

Though I know better than to antagonize him, I can't help the arrogant smirk that twists across my face. Taunting.

"Is she, Hawthorne? I wasn't aware," I say, an acerbic tone to my voice. "You better fix that perception…"

I pull my arm out of his grip, letting my words sink in, before striding away, cutting Hawthorne's fight off at the knees. Peacekeeper uniforms may be Capitol-made but they definitely do not overspend to ensure our personal comfort… or protection.

_~Fin_


	4. Mrs Everdeen

_April 1st, 2012_

_A/N: I really hope something like this gets worked into the Catching Fire movie... haha, but that's probably wishful fangirl thinking on my part. Kinda short, but I hope you all enjoy. :)_

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><p>They say it's only a matter of time before Katniss Everdeen become Katniss Hawthorne. The whisperings of Seam folk gossiping amongst themselves echo in my ears the moment he comes striding across our threshold, my eldest daughter secure in his arms. A part of me thinks there should be a white dress and cheers from outside, but then I realize the worry on his face as he sets her carefully on the old worn couch.<p>

"She fell when she climbed higher. I told her not to," Gale says. The way his voice rises at the end makes me wonder if he's imploring me to discipline my eldest daughter for such unruly behavior. I think to myself that Gale should know better than anyone that anything I say will fall on deaf ears. Katniss is the leader of the household, not me.

"He also carried me all the way back even though I told _him_ not to," Katniss replies, her eyes firmly trained on the subject of her accusation. She looks just like her father when she twists her face into that petulant scowl. Gale does not shift his eyes from the fire leaping at him, the way I always did.

"You may have broken your leg! I wasn't going to let you walk!"

"Sprained," I say, only turning their attention to me when I speak. It shouldn't surprise me that they move in unison, like two beings of one mind, but the reciprocity between them is at once striking and a little unsettling.

"You've only sprained your knee," I say.

Pleased with my diagnosis, Katniss smirks at Gale. He doesn't duck his head quick enough to hide the flush creeping across his face. My eyes glance to my daughter to see if she sees his embarrassment for what it is. The look of self-satisfaction is still there. I doubt she sees the monumental concern Gale clearly had for her. _Has_ for her.

"Still should have listened to me," he mumbles.

I stand, one hand resting on Gale's shoulder acknowledging that I agree, and then move to retrieve some first aid supplies from the cabinets. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my daughter reach across to find his hand. It's a moment of intimacy that I am not meant to witness, but the action speaks volumes. As I turn back to my patient, carefully winding a roll of gauze, I can see the emotions dancing in their eyes. I wonder if Katniss realizes that despite her stone façade, sometimes she can crack. The transparency in her eyes makes the smile on my face impossible to suppress.

"What?" my eldest asks, the bitterness of her voice evident. Her tone, though biting, makes my mouth widen more. I suspect she has no idea why she really is irritated by my amusement.

"Nothing," I say. Her gray eyes narrow suspiciously at me, and I pretend not to notice as I begin winding the gauze around her knee.

"You'll need to stay off your feet for a few days," I say. "Ah, just a few." I give her a warning look when she opens her mouth to protest. Any kind of captivity for Katniss is punishing. "And then we'll see how it feels."

"But Gale…"

"I'll manage for a few days, Catnip," Gale interrupts. He squeezes her hand, reassuringly. "I'll get through the snare line faster without having to wait for you anyway." The mirth in his eyes brightens as Katniss fixes him with a withering stare. But her eyes are dancing too, though her scowl won't betray her.

"Good luck trading with the baker," she scoffs.

For her sake, Gale pretends to look wounded at her implied insult. The act draws out a true smile, one that I so rarely see on my daughter's face. She looks radiant and I can't blame Gale for the star-struck expression he tries unsuccessfully to hide.

I've heard the whisperings and gossip of the Seam folk around us. They say that it's only a matter of time before Katniss Everdeen becomes Katniss Hawthorne. When that moment arrives, I think Gale will have my heartfelt blessing. I can see that it's practically written in stone.

_~Finis_


	5. Greasy Sae

_April 4th, 2012_

_A/N: So while I have the engine running, I guess I'll just keep adding to this one for the time being. Thanks for the reviews and as always, enjoy!_

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><p>It's not like him to be late. That boy is always here, just after the crack of dawn to barter and trade whatever he's managed to catch in the woods. He's like a puppy, following me around as I dish stew for the Hob's early visitors and clear bowls left behind on the counter. His eyes watch my ladle with ravenous attention, but he never asks for soup in exchange for his game. One of these days I should thank him with a bowl. He always makes sure I get a good look at his catch before he sells to others. Smart that way. Keep your regulars happy.<p>

There is not enough energy in these old bones to worry over a thirteen-year-old boy from the Seam. There are also far too many of them to justify any concern for one child specifically. But as I set a steaming bowl before Cray, our head Peacekeeper, I squint at the open doors of this overrun warehouse. I tell myself it's to gauge the business coming and going, not to search for the tall gangly colt of a boy with a face of weariness far too old for his age.

"What's wrong, Sae?" Cray turns to glance out into the streets of District 12. Only my knack for sensing trouble sets me staring off into space. Cray's smart enough to know that.

"Just watchin' 'em come and go," I say, turning away so he can't see my frown. "Looks busy. I should probably start another kettle." Where is that boy?

My hands ache in the early morning spring chill as I set to work on another pot. Rhubarbs and wild onions simmer over the hot fire. The logs crackle and pop when I prod the infant heat to grow up a little faster. I want to add meat, maybe a squirrel, wild dog if I have to, and am considering my lack of ingredients when I feel a tug on my sleeve.

"Excuse me," a small voice says.

I have to stop myself from reprimanding the gray eyes staring up at me, firstly because it's not my place, and secondly, because the pair does not belong to him. The round faced girl watches me with apprehension and uncertainty, glancing over her shoulder occasionally. I raise my gaze to see him standing there, nodding encouragingly.

"Sae, this is Katniss," he says, by way of explanation. "She has a trade for you."

There's a moment where the three of us regard each other, the novelty of the situation seeking any form of refuge. At first, I scowl, a little put off that I'm most likely not getting my usual fare, but then I see it. Clarity rids me of my rheumy vision long enough to notice the expectancy in his young face, the silent plea to be kind though he'd never ask for it.

And that's when I understand that little Gale was late today because of her. Katniss, I think he said.

"Well, show me what you got," I say, resting my hands on my hips like a mother bracing herself for whatever her children are about to confess.

The girl reaches into her bag and comes out with a fat doe, dangling by the hind legs in her hand. I reach for it and she shrinks away warily. Gale steps up, angling her shoulders back towards me and pushing her forward.

"Sae's not gonna take it, Catnip."

"Just wanna feel its weight," I add. I motion with my outstretched hand. "Give it here, girl."

She hands the rabbit over with only a brief moment of residual hesitation. I raise the animal to get a good look at it. Decent weight, I think, bobbing the doe up and down. But what really gets me excited – or as excited an old woman like me can get anymore—is the integrity of the pelt. There's no imperfection in the hide anywhere, no stab mark in the body, no damage to the meat.

"Did you snare this one, boy?"

He shakes his head, his mouth twitching slightly as he tries to suppress a smile.

"Nope," he says. "She shot it."

Now I know this can't be true and I start to scowl. This young whipper snapper knows better than to take me for a fool…

"Look at the eye," he says.

I raise the rabbit again, twisting the animal for closer examination. And I'll be! The doe's left eye is completely mangled in its socket. A slight trail of blood has leaked across the face, still they've cleaned it up as best they could. I try to squelch the impressed look I know is on my face, but am not fast enough. Gale sees this and knows he has the upperhand. He rests a hand on the girl's shoulder as she starts to shift her weight nervously from foot to foot.

"She'll hit them for you like that every time," he says.

"What do you want for it?" I ask.

He shoulders his bag and I can see the weight of other game swing it solidly against his back. So it doesn't surprise me when he says, "Salt." Between the boy and the girl, I can now see the impressive haul they've managed to bag this morning. They'll need salt for preservation of all that meat.

"This is all I've got," I say. I shuffle in my apron pocket and hold up a small sack. Even before their faces fall in unison, I know that it wasn't the amount they were looking for. Truly, I do have more sacks stored under my counter, but for trading purposes, this is all I can afford to part with. Salt in this district may well be worth more than gold itself.

"Sae!" Cray calls. He taps his empty bowl indicating he wants a second helping.

Grateful to escape their disappointment, I retreat to oblige the head Peacekeeper. The sentimental side of me sneaks a glance at the two children. The girl ducks her eyes when she catches me watching her, but peeks up to see the steaming stew fall into Cray's bowl. The boy watches her watch me and I can see his decision before he probably even makes it himself.

"The salt and a bowl of soup," he says.

I am not the only one who raises my eyebrows in surprise.

"Gale!" the girl protests. "But you said…"

"I know what I said," he grouches. He doesn't look at her and I think it's because his pride won't let him. I know that he doesn't believe in trading hard-earned game for the instantaneous gratification of a full tummy. In the Seam, you have to trade smarter than that. It's all about the benefit long term. But then I see the desperation and I know he just can't stand the possibility of disappointing her.

"Skin it and I'll make it two."

The girl's eyes widen and I think to myself that Gale needs to teach her that when she's on the better end of a deal, she needs to be more stoic. That reaction would make just about anyone offer an alternative.

"Deal," Gale says, extending his hand.

I don't shake it. Rather I drop the doe without warning, and he has to scramble to catch it. Good reflexes though, I think, turning away. "Better get to it," I say scruffly.

The girl snatches the rabbit and heeds my advice, her small hands deftly working a small knife with stunning skill. Gale remains staring at me, his lower lip moving slightly as if he isn't quite sure how to say what he wants. Understanding the meaning of this deal far better than him, I wink as I ladle two bowls.

It wasn't my best trade. But as I watch the two devour their steaming bowls, exchanging clandestine smiles between them, I know I've guaranteed something better than just a beautiful doe hide and rabbit meat.

In the Seam, it's all about the long term.

_~Fin_


	6. Madge

_April 28th, 2012_

_A/N: First of all, I have taken a little bit of liberty with events that happen in District 12 as I couldn't remember if Katniss from the trilogy comments at all on proceedings like weddings much. In my mind, anything worth celebrating in the Seam would probably involve almost everyone just because I have this quaint vision of it in my head. Secondly, Madge is a LOT of fun to write. I thoroughly enjoyed borrowing her perspective for this scene and have a newfound respect for her character. As always, enjoy! Reviews/comments/concerns etc welcomed too :)_

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><p>It's pretty common to have wedding celebrations not long after the Reaping. Usually, the two at the center of the attention have survived their seventh year and have managed to escape the snatching fingers of Effie Trinkett for the last time. I've been to so many I can't count – one of the great privileges of being daughter to the Mayor – and no matter the amount of happiness surrounding me, I never enjoy them.<p>

I know the girl only vaguely. She's three years ahead of me in school. Quiet. An understated kind of pretty. From the Seam. Some of the people say that she has a distant relationship to my one and only friend, Katniss Everdeen. A second cousin or something to that effect. I wouldn't know if these rumors are true. Katniss doesn't talk about extended family, when she talks at all. Besides, the cold truth of it is, cousins don't really mean that much in District 12. A lot of times, it's too hard to provide for those immediately around the kitchen table.

Thinking of Katniss makes me realize I haven't seen her. I search the square in vain, my shortness working against me, and once again, I'm distracted by the juxtaposition of the scene before me.

The setting is anything but perfect, though the celebrators don't seem to notice. The summer sun is sweltering overhead, simmering the dancers in a relative haze. For some, it only hides the beauty of their movements. The rest, it helps out a lot. Their feet send the hard-packed dirt into a frenzy of dust that swirls adding to the shimmery effect. Allowing myself a brief moment of impropriety, I snort back a sarcastic laugh. Not even weddings are immune to vanishing in the relentless blanket of dust.

Then, I see him and all the ridicule vaporizes from my mind instantly. He's easy enough to spot over the crowd of dancers, his height the defining characteristic over the blending of dark skin and dark eyes. I have to remember to close my gaping mouth before anyone disapproves of my gawking.

_I _disapprove of my gawking. I tell myself that I was just taken aback that someone so sullen and solid as Gale Hawthorne would be found anywhere near the dance floor. Twirling and spinning with such a gay atmosphere seems out of character for him. Really, though I think it's because his face is all kinds of beautiful when he smiles that way.

I'm thankful for the heat of the afternoon so no one can question the evident flush of my cheeks, but I look down a little embarrassed at my feet anyway. My light dress is already a shade or two darker because of the dust that settles around me, and though, I know it's futile, I swipe at the hem anyway. The action makes me feel more in control.

I don't let myself look back up right away, still not fully recovered from my wayward butterflies, and notice several other girls watching the handsome giant with open admiration and fascination. One of the older girls does not swoon, her face twisted into a bitter scowl. The expression makes me frown and I turn back to see what she is so unhappy with.

That's when I see Katniss.

I'm stuck with the same strange sense of shock when I see Gale take her hand and spin her, only to catch her easily when she sways unsteadily from the rapid rotation. She's laughing and shaking her head slightly at his outright silliness, but the grin on face negates her attempt to appear unimpressed. They pause in the midst of the motion, and for a moment, it seems like all the dancers are orbiting them.

The music changes as if sensing the two still bodies at the center of the square and shifts into a slower, more intimate tune. Katniss tries to step away, her lips voicing some kind of protest, but Gale is too strong and catches her hand before she can flee. I understand the older girl's face when a sudden spike of jealousy flares through me.

_He's her best friend, Madge. Get a grip_.

Somehow, those words only make my vision greener, yet I cannot tear my eyes away from them.

Gale's arms fold around Katniss' waist and after a moment of stubbornness, she finally relents and reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck. Katniss is by no means short, but she still has to press close to connect the circle. She pretends to be grouchy, shooting him her best petulant look. It lasts less than five seconds when he unleashes the full power of his dark gray eyes on her and dissolves her – and all of us gawkers – with a crooked grin. I can just barely make out the slight reddening of my friend's cheeks before she buries her face in his chest. He lets his chin rest atop her dark hair and slowly turns them away as they sway in a slow circle.

I feel the hot stab of envy again, and I really must need to get out of the heat before I completely lose my cool to something so irrational as two friends dancing at a wedding. I know Katniss, I do. She has no interest in boys. Not in _that _regard at least. Which is hard for me to understand as her peer of fifteen years who certainly has noticed boys in that way. I shake my head, bewildered. Especially when she has _him_ as a best friend.

_Gale Hawthorne. What has got you all bothered about Gale Hawthorne, Madge?_

Everything, I think to myself. While Katniss might not think of boys like that, I certainly do. Judging by the looks from that group of girls – there are many more frowns and irritated looks now – I'm the one who's normal in our solemn little duo. And it's not just the dark good looks, the ruggedness of a provider, or even his brooding demeanor we'd all be more than willing to try to crack.

I study them again, as Gale's face comes back into view. The goofy grin is now gone, replaced by a serious look. His eyebrows slightly pull together, his lips pressed into a grim line. Tortured is the word that comes to mind. At first, I don't understand his pain, but when he glances down at the girl folded in his arms and then looks up and away, blinking rapidly against some aggrieved thought. Katniss has him wrapped around her little pinky and she's not even _aware_ of her effect on him.

_Wanting what you can't have_, _Madge._

I think I should snort again, in spite of myself. But I can't. Wanting what I can't have is exactly what I feel. Not for the first time in my life, I'm wishing I was a girl from the Seam.

_~Fin_


	7. Prim

_March 31__st__, 2013_

_A/N: Not going to lie, I am super stoked that they kept the whipping in the Catching Fire movie. Not stoked that Gale has to endure that, but kinda excited to see the small moment of Galeniss that I so enjoyed in the books. I had originally not planned for this series of vignettes to venture much further than the first novel. But Prim's point of view seemed much more effective here. As always, please read and review!_

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><p>Katniss' eye is swelling. There's blood running down the side of her face, the skin beneath already discolored an ugly blue. But that's not what scares me.<p>

She's screaming. And crying. Beyond the point of hysterical.

It's very unlike Katniss to not be in control of herself. I've forgotten how much I rely on her to keep from coming unglued myself that it is shocking to see her in a full blown meltdown. I feel like crying too.

Instead, I continue to hand Mother the gauze strips dunked in snow coat. She lays them carefully across the angry criss-cross hash of Gale's back, her hands poised and steady despite the emotional turmoil around her. It's almost as if she barely hears Katniss' agony. It's almost as if she's back to hiding within her shell.

"That won't be enough, I know how it feels!" Katniss shrieks.

She takes a dangerous step closer to Mother, but Haymitch and Peeta are instantly there. She struggles against their hold and continues to yell, her voice cracked and straining to the point of breaking.

"That will barely knock out a headache!"

"We'll combine it with the sleep syrup, Katniss, and he'll manage it," Mother says. It's the first time she's addressed my sister other than a brief comment to pack her own lash with snow. The tone she's adopted is one meant to take control back from a person who's lost all rhyme and reason when a loved one's life is on the line. It's meant to end the argument.

But to Katniss, the acknowledgement only seems to escalate her emotions.

"Just give him the medicine! Give it to him! Who are you, anyway, to decide how much pain he can stand!"

As if he agrees, Gale groans and starts to shift. The snow coat has not set, and I immediately jump up to brace his shoulders. My weight is not enough, though I lean hard to try to keep him down. The struggle makes his cuts reopen, some staining the gauze with red, and the sound Gale makes against the agony is strong enough to make tears spring to my eyes.

He reaches towards Katniss' voice, and I almost can't watch as Haymitch and Peeta haul my sister away, screaming words she'd never say in my presence if she were rational. The obscenities linger in the hallways and fill the kitchen with their cutting tension.

Mother sighs heavily, dipping another gauze strip

"Be still, Gale," she says with the same calm. "Moving makes it worse."

Somehow through the chaos and pain, he hears her and relaxes. I slowly ease off my weight, looking down for some sign he'll attempt to move again. A few tears fall into his hair. I hadn't even realized I was crying too.

"Everything will be okay," my mom says. At first I don't realize she's speaking to me. I watch numbly as she applies the last strip to her patient. "Your sister's just upset and scared. I'll go talk to her in a minute."

"I know," I say, hating that I sniffle.

My mother smiles softly, her eyes meeting mine and I can see that she believes that I do understand. It's not the first time I've seen that emotional instability. People say and do all sorts of things when someone they love is in danger.

It's just the first time it's been my sister.

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><p>Katniss has been much calmer since Madge brought the morphling for Gale. I think it's because Gale's been calmer too. But then again, it's hard for me to tell if she was upset because he was in pain, or if he was in pain because she was upset. Probably both, I think.<p>

Since she's been allowed back in the kitchen, Katniss has not once left Gale's side. As I ladle some steaming stew into a bowl, I glance over to them. She sits quietly at his head, hunched closely, almost protectively, her fingers carefully smoothing his hair. When Gale heaves a sigh, Katniss does too, and I wonder if anyone else notices how often they mirror each other.

"Thank you, Prim," she says, her voice grainy and stretched with fatigue. She doesn't move to eat it though.

"Please try, Katniss," I say. I almost don't, but then I add, "Gale would want you to."

In his drug-induced state, Gale mumbles something incoherent as if to back me up. She glances from him to me, her eyes wide. I hold out a spoon to her.

"See?"

Katniss nods, the corners of her mouth trying not to twist into a smile.

"Okay," she relents, and dutifully swallows a spoonful of stew.

The night seems to pass slowly. I guess that's to be expected when everyone stands around watching everyone else stand around. Every time Gale moans or flinches, Katniss gets this panicked look on her face that holds until Gale quiets. Then it's like everyone in the room breathes a sigh of relief.

When it gets close to midnight, Hazelle excuses herself to leave. She thanks Mother for her help before stepping over to the table to see her son. Katniss scoots back to give her some room, and in doing so, meets Hazelle's eyes. The two exchange a pointed look and I can almost hear their silent conversation.

_I'll watch over him. I won't leave his side._

_I would never have doubted you._

Then she's gone.

Peeta and Haymitch follow soon after. Before he goes, Peeta gives Katniss one last sad glance that she doesn't see. But I do, and my heart twists for Peeta too. Everyone is a little worse for the wear today it seems.

When it's just the three of us, Mother stands surveying the scene. For a minute, I think she's trying to determine the best way to send Katniss to bed. Instead, she walks over, checks Gale's pulse and temperature, and turns to leave when satisfied he's stable.

"Come, Prim," she says. "Katniss will take the first shift."

I nod and say my good-nights, following in Mother's stead and dimming the kitchen lights on the way out. The dark still of the house makes all the tension dissolve from my shoulders and I can't wait to fall into bed. The evening has been thoroughly exhausting, and living each up and down emotion with my sister has left me wanting nothing more than to find oblivion.

I'm halfway up the stairs when I realize I didn't hug Katniss. It's one small comfort that I can offer her hurting heart, so I turn back, hoping that maybe it'll help comfort mine too. I round the hallway corner and immediately stop dead in my tracks.

Katniss has shifted her chair around so that her back is now mostly to me, but she doesn't turn to face me. Instead, her shoulders quiver in silent torment as she gently presses her fingers to Gale's face. Then, she leans close, and though I can hear her whisper, I can't make out the words. For a fleeting moment, I think some part of me knows to turn away, but I don't, watching my sister kiss him once.

It's like a fairy tales she used to tell me, except backwards and real.

The princess kissing her sleeping prince to break some evil spell.

Gale's eyes flutter open and he smiles despite his pain. Whatever he says makes Katniss smile back and for a second, the two of them seem so content just being so close.

Feeling like an intruder, I turn away, realizing my sister has found comfort elsewhere tonight. As I sneak back up the stairs, I feel suddenly light on my feet and dart quickly into the bathroom to wash my face. When I look up at my dripping reflection, my only smile seems to reflect the one that is in my heart.

~_Fin_


	8. Haymitch

_January 6th, 2014_

_A/N: This is the eighth vignette in this series of snapshots focusing on Gale and Katniss' relationship from various POVs. Haymitch's perspective was inspired at the request of a reviewer. It's a little on the short side, but I've always carried this belief that Haymitch is a sort of to-the-point kind of guy. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated! _

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><p>For some people, alcohol hides the feelings and the brokenness of those who choose to drown themselves in it. For others, alcohol shamelessly reveals what the world does not usually get a chance to see.<p>

I've known this fact for years since I picked up my first bottle of white liquor and haven't set it down since. Sometimes, it has earned me friends. Most times, it left me with enemies.

The girl before me is somewhere in between.

Friend and enemy that is. Right now, I can see the alcohol tearing down her walls, slouching her tough façade into something wounded and oppressed. Her bleary red-rimmed eyes pooled with misery and defeat.

If only Snow could see her now…

But it doesn't matter. That damned old fool would carry out this Quell with even more vengeance and hatred. He'd parade the Girl on Fire before them all with a constant infusion of alcohol if this is what the foul drink reveals. How horrific for the few who have managed to spread the rebellion.

Their Mockingjay, drowning in a sea of ethanol-fueled emotions.

Not very inspiring.

Not very friend-like, either, to not thank me for sharing, I think, as she staggers to her feet and heads for the door without so much as a word or look in my direction.

I jump up to support her, though she shrugs me away viciously with a sneer. I watch her shuffle along the windy drive. It hurts, I know, to be so broken with no chance of mending, no chance of relief, and for one brief instant, this newborn enemy of the state is one of my closest friends.

The wind whips suddenly through my front door, and I slam it closed.

Her jacket and scarf lie strewn across the entrance floor. The empty bottle in my hand crashes to the hardwood floors.

_Damn girl_.

The sudden shield of the liquor is not strong enough to hide the ache I feel for that wounded bird. It's only three drives, but she's been known to screw up easier things before. And she's still my responsibility to deliver in one piece.

I'm out the front door, hurrying after her, the forgotten jacket slung over my shoulder. Faster than expected, I catch up to her as she staggers toward the stairs. Experienced drunkard: 1. Rookie drunkee: 0.

There's a shadow in the window that moves out of view quickly, revealed only seconds later by the golden light shining from the home within.

She makes a painful sort of cry, reaching towards him with a desperate grasp. He's there to catch her and haul her to her feet, the way he always did, the way he always will. He says something to her hair, something meant to soothe most likely from the way he strokes the back of her head and pulls her closer to him. She almost disappears behind the solid build of his arms, but her wail of "No!" is audible enough.

Her legs begin to shake and some white relief sloshes to the ground, wasted and gone. He pulls her up into his arms, the bottle falling from her hand in almost a slow motion. It shatters on the tile of the foyer, and only then does he look at me.

I don't have to see that hate in his eyes to know what he thinks of my mentoring methods. This girl – _his girl_ – destroyed by the Capitol, destroyed by me and my association with it.

I wonder if he knows if the districts saw this moment, as I watch it now, how fast the runaway train of a rebellion would travel.

Panem might see this war started because of a boy and a girl.

But what they couldn't see…

What Snow made sure they would never see…

What the alcohol had let me see…

Was how we had been watching the wrong boy.

_~Fin_


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